


In Other Words

by garbagebreath



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Coming Out, Coming of Age, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Period-Typical Homophobia, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 04:00:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17594204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/garbagebreath/pseuds/garbagebreath
Summary: There was a lot about Richie Tozier that bothered Eddie Kaspbrak.





	In Other Words

There were many adjectives that perfectly embodied Richie Tozier. Loud, obnoxious, immature, obscene, clumsy, inattentive, energetic, out of his mind, weird, infuriating, lazy,  _completely helpless_. Eddie Kaspbrak could attest to every one of those personality descriptors. In his eleven short years of life, he had never met _anyone_ quite like Richie Tozier. He’s certain that if he did, he would be drove to insanity. Eddie never had any desire to approach Richie with the prospect of friendship. Though his morbid curiosity towards the strange boy left him watching the shows of extravagance that Richie put on for the mere sake of getting attention; it bothered Eddie deeply, that he was fooled by the attention seeking acts time and time again.

Bill Denbrough, Eddie’s best friend (his only friend) never tried to hide his own amusement. Though, he had always been relatively close with Richie Tozier - talking to their bespectacled classmate after school, sometimes inviting him to join the two of them in the Barrens.

To which Richie always responded with a surprised chortle, as if it was always the first time he received a friendly invitation to hang out. _“Barrens? Awe shucks Big Bill, how’d you know how much I love wading ‘round in shit.”_ He spoke like he was in a rush to get his words out, which only served to bother Eddie. He also, only accepted Bill’s invitation when his asthmatic best friend wasn’t around, that also bothered Eddie.

A lot about Richie Tozier bothered Eddie, he was the one inconsistent in a town full of predictability. He didn’t _get_ Richie, not in the slightest.

He was sure that the morbid curiosity he held towards the strange boy was the only reason his eyes followed Richie whenever he entered a room, the only reason he pondered over the meaning behind so many of his seemingly meaningless obscenities, the only reason he would stare at the ceiling of his bedroom at night with a crease between his brows and Richie’s name bouncing around in his brain. It was a flimsy excuse - but Eddie was young, an eleven year old raised in Derry, Maine by an overbearing mother and an urn that held the remains of his father.

Regardless, he wasn’t the only kid in Derry who was hopelessly preoccupied by Richie Tozier. In particular, Henry Bowers spent a significant portion of his time finding new ways to torture the hyperactive boy.

Eddie found himself an unfortunate bystander to these confrontations more times than he would like to admit.

The sound of mulch snapping up under sneakers is what immediately alerted Eddie to the presence of another person from his position seated on a rusting bar atop his school’s jungle gym. It didn’t take much to figure out who the two sets of feet running towards the monkey bars were, judging by the unbridled yell of rage that emerged from the ground. _“I’m going to rip your fucking throat out, four eyes!”_

Richie Tozier ran like he wasn’t afraid of tripping and falling down. Either that, or he would rather confront the fear of face planting than slow down and risk Bowers catching up. Eddie assumed it was a combination of both.

Palm first, Richie slammed into the bars of the jungle gym and wasted no time gracelessly climbing up the sides - towards the top of the twenty foot structure where Eddie sat with his legs dangling and a toy train in his lap. Eddie’s admiration prevented him from acting on his aggravation and kicking Richie off of the jungle gym for leading Bowers right to the _both_ of them. Though, the idea that he (on some level) _admired_ Richie Tozier’s boldness (stupidity) had his mood souring.

More frustrating, Richie plopped right down next to him on the bars. The bespectacled boy gulped down breaths of air so vigorously that Eddie had half a mind to pull out his aspirator and let the boy take a pump from it. The thought was instantly squashed when Richie tilted his head to the side and grinned at Eddie, a goofy smile that shamelessly displayed a wonky set of front teeth. _“Wassup, Doc?”_

Wide eyed, Eddie looked between Richie - too nonchalant in his current predicament, and Henry Bowers. The twelve year old’s shoes, ragged with mud from his father’s farm and full of holes, skidded through the mulch to a stop in front of the playground equipment that wasn’t doing anything to protect Richie Tozier.

“Get down here, _fuckface._ ” Henry gritted out, his voice more precise than Eddie had ever heard it. His face was splotchy and red, anger and humiliation competing with one another in his expression. His hand curled around the nearest monkey bar, it didn’t look quite as threatening as it maybe _should_ have. Despite the display, it didn’t look like Henry was planning on making any moves to climb the playground.

Richie barked when he laughed, a sound that was sharp and high pitched - like a small dog. To someone in Henry’s position, it was a _grating_ sound, and the sneer on Bowers ugly face could attest to that.

“ _Fuckface?_ ” Richie crowed, and Eddie jumped at the casual use of foul language from someone he considered his social equal. “Say Bowers, why dontcha’ climb up here and get me yur’self?”

 _What a ridiculous question to ask_ . Eddie thought to himself, his eyes narrowed at Richie. Never before had Eddie met a person so intent on getting himself killed before he could make it to junior high school. Rather than doing what Richie suggested and climbing up the monkey bars to wring his scrawny neck, Henry’s scowl deepened and he kicked his foot against the bars so hard that the entire frame shook. Accusingly, he pointed a dirt covered finger up at Richie. “You’re going to pay for this _chompers_.”

“That a new nickname, Bowers? You ol’ softie.” Richie cooed, his feet swung back and forth over the side of the bars - barely out of Henry’s grasp. The dirt and mulch imbedded in the bottom of Richie’s tennis shoes sprinkled down with every kick of his leg, landing in Bowers’ hair.

Eddie Kaspbrak had come to expect that behavior from Richie Tozier, a blasé attitude towards the concept of dying at the hands of Henry Bowers and the guarantee that with Richie’s wry grin and sarcastic words you would never get the better of him in a conversation. That being said, experiencing it firsthand was terrifying. Eddie’s palms, which gripped the iron bars he was seated on top of, were slick with nervous sweat that he periodically had to wipe off on his khaki shorts. He worried that if he had to make a break for it, his knees would be knocking together so fiercely that his legs would give underneath him like two trembling tree branches.

“Just you wait until next time.” Henry gruffed out, glancing around the playground nervously - as if he were afraid of someone else watching this scene unfold.

Undoubtedly, he didn’t intend on sticking around long enough to see whether or not someone _would_ show up. With one last infuriated glance at Richie Tozier, he made a break for it towards the canopy of trees that spread out and encircled the entirety of Derry, Maine’s Kenduskeag. The bespectacled boy blew a raspberry the moment Henry’s silhouette disappeared behind green and brown brush, shakily, Eddie turned towards the foul mouthed and hyperactive fifth grader.

Up close, the enigma that was Richie Tozier didn’t make sense anymore than he did when watching from a distance. His eyes were bright blue, a shocking flash of color on his grimy dirt covered face - barely visible behind his tape repaired glasses and the stringy brown hair that hung in loose curls on his forehead. Starkly different from Big Bill, whose blue eyes were only second to the shock that his fiery red hair provided. Richie was still smiling, whilst idly picking a bandage that covered only a small portion of the huge purple bruise coloring his otherwise pale elbow. His two front teeth did make him look more like a foul mouthed bunny rabbit than the infamous Richie Tozier, whose wit could sink a thousand ships.

The hand previously picking at his bandage, shot outwards towards Eddie, causing the smaller of the two to flinch. Richie grinned wider, and yanked up Eddie’s hand from where it was white knuckling the bars underneath them. “Richie Tozier’s m’ name. Doin’ voices is the game _.”_

“We’ve met.” Eddie said simply, snatching his hand back out of the boy’s grip and wiping it on the front of his shorts. If Richie noticed, he didn’t bother looking the slightest bit offended. “And your voices aren’t any good.”

Richie hummed, tilting his head full of raggedy curls curiously. “Can you do ‘em better?”

The asthmatic balked, an offended huff involuntarily emerged from his throat. “Well... _no_.”

“Then who ah you ta judge, boy?” Richie retorted, clearly pleased with his own horribly unpracticed Southern accent. Before Eddie had the chance to respond with something akin to; _“a person with_ ears _,_ ” Richie began climbing down the jungle gym towards the piles of mulch that once supported Henry Bowers’ ratty sneakers.

Eddie, who was bright enough to realize that Henry Bowers’ had some sort of aversion towards jungle gyms (whether it be a fear of heights or, god forbid, _monkey bars)_ also felt he wasn’t being naïve in his assumption that Bowers wasn’t done with both himself and Richie Tozier.

Warily, Eddie glanced backwards towards the canopy of trees he watched Bowers disappear into. “What if he’s waiting on us?” He asked, and his chest started feeling tight as the possible scenario laid out in his imagination. He feared Henry wouldn’t be as easily spooked with the two younger boys standing unprotected in the middle of Kansas street, perhaps he would even have Belch Huggins and Victor Criss flanking him.

Richie harrumphed, and Eddie looked down in time to see the buck toothed boy crossing his scrawny arms over his chest and tilting his head exasperatedly. Eddie’s frown deepened, how dare Richie Tozier be exasperated with _him_ . As though he was the buffoon who put them in this situation in the first place. “So we hop on Mr. Ripsom’s tool shed.” The cynicism in Richie’s voice did little to comfort the paranoid nagging plaguing Eddie’s mind. “‘Less you’d rather stay up _there_ all night.”

As a matter of fact, Eddie despised the idea of being trapped atop his elementary school’s jungle gym all night.

Eddie winced, as his Ma’s disapproving face flashed in his mind. Why, if he wasn’t home before the sun set Sonia would start tacking up missing posters and have the local police scouting the entirety of Derry for her poor sick boy. The mere thought was enough to have Eddie sticking his toy train into his pocket next to his aspirator and climbing down the playground equipment. Facing an angry Henry Bowers sounded far more promising than facing his hysterical, worried to death mother.

The eleven year old brightened when Eddie landed, with much difficulty, on his spotless white Keds. The hypochondriac swayed dizzily at the jarring landing - he huffed through his nostrils and anxiously pawed at his front pocket for his aspirator. Relieved, he let out a relaxed breath as he felt the outline of his inhaler (third one this month) resting unharmed next to his train. The relief was short lived, Richie Tozier grabbed his frail wrist with a dirt covered palm (one that Sonia Kaspbrak would certainly look sorely upon) and tenderly tugged at the, still trembling, arm.

 _“Cut that out.”_ Eddie snapped, snatching his arm back for the second time that day and brushing the imaginary specks of dirt that Richie left.

The afternoon sun was beginning to dip closer to the horizon than Eddie was comfortable with. His mother would certainly be fretting over his tardiness by now, although, he didn’t feel that was _entirely_ Richie’s fault. He had extended his stay at the playground longer than he should have - it was nice sometimes, being outside. His Ma would disagree, but then again, he and his Ma disagreed on a lot of things.

“You some sort of germaphobe?” Richie carelessly interrupted Eddie’s thoughts, and when his grim expression settled back on the buck toothed boy he saw that his electric blue eyes were laser focused on the wrist he was previously holding. The wrist Eddie was still frantically rubbing at. Flustered, Eddie dropped his arms back to his sides and ignored the embarrassed redness that creeped up his face.

“No.” He replied instantly.

Richie frowned, and Eddie belatedly realized how rude he must have seemed. The other boy recovered rather quickly, shrugging like he didn’t have a care in the world and putting on his goofy grin. “My friend Stan is a germaphobe. He tells me he isn’t but..” Thoughtfully, Richie tilted his head. “He gets real weird when I don’t clean up after myself.”

 _That’s how my Ma gets, when_ I _don’t clean up after myself._ Is what Eddie would have liked to add, but on second thought, he didn’t believe the two situations were as similar as they sounded. After all, Stanley Uris wasn’t Richie Tozier’s mom.

Instead, he glared down at his wrist, as if the end of his dangling arm was the source of all of his strange behavior. Shakily, he lifted it back up and held it outwards for Richie to grab. “I’m Eddie Kaspbrak.” He thankfully avoided visibly wincing when his voice cracked. “I don’t have a… _game._ I think.”

The weird boy barked out his high pitched laugh, and grabbed ahold of Eddie’s hand in a playful reenactment of what a handshake is supposed to be. It certainly wasn’t anything like the handshakes the other men in Derry gave, nothing like Bill Denbrough’s firm grip that exudes seriousness. Richie shook hands like he expected Eddie not to let go, it was as _childish_ as it was clumsy and obnoxious. Eddie liked it.

He was almost disappointed when the boy _did_ eventually let go of his hand to push his crooked glasses back up his long nose. “You’re a weird kid, Eddie Spaghetti.”

It sounded ironic, coming from Richie Tozier, and _even more ironic_ when he was using such a stupid nickname to end his sentence. “Don’t call me that.”

“Would you prefer Spaghetti Head?”

“No.”

“Spaghetti Man?”

_“No.”_

“Spaghedward?”

“You’re insufferable.” Eddie sighed, though a smile tugged at his lips. Richie noticed, judging by the elated grin he received in return. “Spaghetti is _off_ the table.”

Richie gasped, loud enough to echo through the tiny playground and bounce off of the fortress of trees. “Didja hear that Eds? That’s the sound of _you,_ getting off a good one. Think I’m a good influence on you.”

Frowning, Eddie crossed his arms over his chest, trying to look as angry as possible in his small and mouseish body. It didn’t look like it was working, Richie looked more likely to coo than run away screaming - or preferably, _to grovel._ “You can’t influence me into being funny if _you’re_ not funny yourself.” Eddie blinked. _“And don’t call me Eds, either.”_

There was something lingering in Richie’s eyes as he gave Eddie a once over, something that Eddie recognized as a look he often gave to Bill Denbrough. _Admiration._ He shifted awkwardly under the gaze, and hoped that under Richie’s intense stare hidden away behind his messy curls that he couldn’t see the pink blossoming on Eddie’s pale cheeks. The moment ended rather quickly, and Richie was turning on his heel and bounding away from the jungle gym towards the paved road of Kansas street.

“Am I supposed to follow you?” Eddie called, cupping his hand over his mouth to amplify his frail asthmatic voice.

Richie shrugged, his head was tilted sideways but he didn’t stop and turn towards Eddie. The smaller boy had a feeling that making Richie Tozier slow down was a difficult feat. _“Whatever you want señor!”_ Is the response Eddie got.

 _Whatever you want,_ isn’t a statement the hypochondriac was used to hearing. And he was sure his Ma would have a fit if she saw how excited he was at the prospect of doing what _he_ wanted. Especially when, as of late, what he wanted is to follow Richie Tozier. A boy who, after further evaluation, he’s positive his mother would hate. In the end, he jogged to catch up with Richie, putting a smile on the bespectacled boy’s face.

Walking side by side, Richie was noticeably taller than Eddie. It didn’t come as much of a surprise to the shorter of the two, most people he came across _were_ taller than him. It seemed that was the price of being sickly - he was fated to be small as well. Although Richie was taller, he wasn’t hefty the way Bill Denbrough was. He was thin, lanky. The picture of a hyperactive boy with an equally hyperactive metabolism.

“How did you know that Henry wouldn’t climb the jungle gym?” Eddie pondered aloud, and from his peripheral view he saw Richie flinch at the mention of the town’s infamous bully.

“‘m just smart like that Eds.” When Eddie glanced up at his classmate, he saw the absent minded expression that caused his bright blue eyes to glaze over. The usage of _Eds_ was agitating but he decided not to say anything about it, after all, it was a far better nickname than Eddie Spaghetti. “Figured it out a few months ago when he was chasing after me, grabbed ahold of ol’ Paul Bunyan and climbed up his arm.”

“You _climbed_ the Paul Bunyan statue?” Eddie asked incredulously, his head whipping towards the curly haired boy who’s strange bout of distractedness faded into a smug grin. _“Surely_ that’s…” _Not allowed._ Eddie didn’t finish that sentence, instead trailing off with a frustrated huff.

Richie seemed to understand, regardless. He shrugged again, shoving his hands down into the pockets of his jeans as they strolled at a considerably slow pace. Slower than they _should_ have been, with Henry Bowers most likely in the woods, threateningly lurking and waiting for his moment to attack. “Y’know no one in this town cares. If they did…” Richie frowned, briefly. The smug expression getting wiped off and replaced with a look all too serious for Tozier. _“Ah…_ it doesn’t matter.”

Eddie imagined that Henry would be furious if he heard Richie Tozier spreading around his fears. Though, he didn’t think that would deter Richie if he mentioned it.

They weren’t walking towards Eddie’s house. He only realized that when the ground underneath him changed from pavement to the wooden planks of the Kissing Bridge that overlooked the Canal. He jolted to a stop, and of course, Richie Tozier stopped along with him. Richie didn’t even have the gall to look confused, or annoyed. He just… _looked._ “Why did you bring me to the Kissing Bridge?”

At least with that, he got a reaction out of Richie. The flustered reddening of his face satisfied Eddie. _He_ can _get embarrassed._ It was enough to distract Eddie from his momentary bout of confusion at their location. “Aren’t the Barrens this way?” His voice was high pitched, squeaky.

“If you want to swim through the Kenduskeag, sure.” Richie looked like he wanted to laugh. Eddie didn’t know why, he was being serious. It seemed like a very Richie Tozier thing to do, _to go the long way around._ “Why are you taking me to the Barrens?”

Incredulously, Richie blinked at him. “I’m not _taking you_ anywhere.” He laughed then, it was nicer sounding than his dog bark laugh. Soothing, even. “Jesus Eds, you make it sound like I’m holding you hostage.”

 _But you are._ Eddie thought. That thought worried him, so he just frowned.

“That wasn’t an answer.”

The two stared at each other, and under the gaze of Richie’s electric blue eyes - Eddie felt he hadn’t ever been more confused in his life. This kid was just _weird._ Weird weird weird. Eddie didn’t understand him. He wanted to stand on his tiptoes and say, _“What’s your_ deal, _Richie Tozier?”_ To which, he’s sure the taller boy would just grin with his wonky front teeth and say something like: _“My deal? Doing voices Eddie Spaghetti, I already told you that.”_

“Isn’t this where you and Bill go?” Richie asked, tentatively - throwing his thumb over his shoulder towards the other end of the Kissing Bridge. Eddie didn’t quite have the heart to tell him he was still pointing in the wrong direction.

“You’re not Bill.” Eddie supplied, not unkindly.

Richie hummed, and the corner of his mouth twitched upwards. “You play things by the books, dontcha Eds?” Eddie didn’t like that. He didn’t like it that Richie said that, he definitely didn’t like the disappointment in Richie’s voice as he said it. It was worse than his Ma’s disappointment… _sure,_ Richie wasn’t _hysterical._ But there was a double meaning to his disappointment, Eddie knew it. _Ah, just like I suspected._ Richie must be thinking. _Wheezy is sick. Very very sick._

“I don’t.” Eddie protested, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. “The Barrens isn’t _your_ place. It’s Bill’s.”

A brow arched behind that mop of hair. “I’m not sure if you know this, my dear, but the sewers are for the public.” The way he called Eddie such fond names that were usually reserved for girls, that was weird too. “At least, I don’t _think_ Bill Denbrough is the only person to take shits in this town.”

“Stop acting dumb.”

_“I am dumb.”_

“Pretend you’re not.”

Richie exhaled exasperatedly, making certain that Eddie could see how tiresome he found him. “The Aladdin is _my_ place.”

“I’m not sure if you know this, but movies are for the public.” Eddie responded snarkily. It instantly broke the ice, the two boys started giggling - loud enough that their happiness seemed to bounce off of the Kenduskeag’s rapid waters. Eddie didn’t want to linger; not on the way Richie’s weird teeth looked when he laughed, not on the way his dirt smudged cheeks were red from the afternoon heat. It was difficult though, Richie Tozier was difficult not to linger on.

“Why didn’t you ever come to the Barrens… when I was there?” Eddie asked later that day, when they were sharing a bag of popcorn over a hokey horror movie that Richie guaranteed was the best movie of all time. It didn’t matter anyways, Eddie wasn’t paying it any attention.

“Thought you didn’t like me or something.”

 _Or something._ What a odd thing to think. Richie Tozier was an odd guy. A lot about Richie Tozier bothered Eddie.

+

It rained in Derry like the sky was taking vengeance on the ground. Raindrops splattered against the wet concrete and transformed the roads into an extremely dangerous slip-n-slide. The power in the Kaspbrak home shut off three hours into the storm, so aside from the crackling glow from his three wick candles and the occasional flash of lightning across the sky, Eddie Kaspbrak was in a shroud of darkness.

He was fourteen years old. Which wasn’t a particularly extraordinary age. When was the last time a fourteen year old did something unique or incredible? Eddie couldn’t tell you. But to Eddie, it _felt_ important being fourteen years old. Fourteen was the year that everyone around him started to behave like _real teenagers._ Fourteen was the year his voice began to drop, the year his height grew another five inches. Fourteen was the year he discovered that he didn’t want a girlfriend. In retrospect, he wasn’t going to be fourteen for much longer. It was pointless to get sentimental over his awkward age now, when Ben Hanscom, Beverly Marsh and Richie Tozier were already fifteen years old. Stan Uris and himself were only weeks behind them.

Weeks ago, when Eddie was reading Romeo and Juliet in his English class, he remembered one of the boys making a joke - crude joke about what _he_ would do if he was in Romeo’s shoes, one that even Richie Tozier would wince at. As distasteful as it was, it got Eddie thinking. What would _he_ do if he were in Romeo’s shoes?

“What would you do… if you were Romeo?” Eddie asked Richie Tozier while they were sitting under a pine tree together in the Barrens. He was holding his box of matches in his palm, and flipping it in the air only to catch it again - over and over.

“Something dumb. _Probably.”_

“Wouldn’t you want to…” Eddie faltered, his mouth floundering. “Do _things…_ with Juliet?”

Richie stopped flipping his matchbox, and stared up at Eddie blankly from behind the cracked lenses of his coke bottle glasses. He laughed then, and went back to playing his game. “You’re cute.”

The conversation ended there.

 _Boys were worthless._ That’s the conclusion Eddie came to. It was a mantra that rang in Eddie’s mind loudly as he lay in the dark, the rough pattering of rain the only noise distracting him from his own thoughts.

The slow creaking of Eddie’s first floor bedroom window being slid open had his heart leaping into his throat. He shouldn’t have been afraid, he knew that. There was, after all, a reason he left his bedroom window unlocked. That _reason_ was cramming his legs into his bedroom and dripping rainwater onto his spotless white carpet. Eddie couldn’t find it in himself to be annoyed; not after he saw the dripping brunet curls in the faint orange glow of his candles.

“You’re soaking my bedroom floor.” Eddie croaked out anyways, he looked between the muddy sneakers on Richie Tozier’s feet and the opened window which was spraying a constant stream of water onto his carpeted floor.

Richie grunted absentmindedly, mumbling under his breath in a manner that was so out of character for him. Without much protest aside from that, Richie quietly shut the opened window and toed off his sneakers on top of the puddle he made whilst breaking in. All the while, Eddie watched the slow process with varying degrees of confusion and worry.

He wanted to say something, ask _something,_ but his voice strained to a halt in his throat. Anxiety crept into his brain and took his voice from him before he could even use it, and he just _let it._ That is, until he saw the trembling of Richie’s fingers under the faint candlelight.

 _“Oh Richie,_ you’re freezing.” Eddie gasped out, and was climbing out of his bed and frantically searching around his bedroom for dry clothes that would fit the taller, lankier boy. He didn’t have the time to be flustered over a boy wearing his clothes as he handed off a pair of his own clean boxers and the largest tee shirt he owned. Besides, Richie wasn’t really a _boy._ He was just Richie.

Silently, Richie held the dry clothes in his hands. His electric blue eyes were gray, the whites of his eyes were red - he wasn’t wearing his glasses. As long as Eddie had known Richie Tozier, he had never seen him looking so… dull. Dull wasn’t an adjective that accurately described Richie, not Eccentric Richie Tozier. Not Excitable, Clumsy, _Weird_ Richie Tozier. He opened his mouth, even though it looked as if it pained him a great deal to do so. The metal in his mouth that was slowly adjusting his oversized front teeth caught the candlelight as he said; “My dad died.”

The air between them was stagnant and the room was silent, aside from the sound of rain slapping against the side of Eddie’s house and the labored breathing of a blue lipped Richie. His jaw was trembling, shaking with the effort of holding back tears that Eddie could see brimming in the corners of his eyes and threatening to decorate his lashes and his cheeks with mock raindrops. He wanted to speak, to say _I understand, I understand how badly you’re hurting._ But what would that do? Certainly not take away his hurt.

“How?” Eddie whispered instead, holding eye contact with Richie’s stormy gaze.

“Heart attack.” Richie said, and then laughed - bitterly, _not at all_ like Richie. A lone tear fell on his cheek. “He smoked too much, can you believe that Eds?”

His teeth were chattering so hard that Eddie could hear the way his jaw clicked and clacked together. He glanced back down at the dry clothes Richie had fisted in his hands, his knuckles were scratched up and bruised. That wasn’t out of character for Richie;  he fell down a lot, he hit things a lot - for fun, usually. There was fresh blood on his knuckles. He doubted that blood was caused by _fun._

“You’re going to get pneumonia.” _If you haven’t already._ Richie didn’t look like he cared, Eddie wondered if he was trying to catch pneumonia. Or worse.

“What if I already have?” It was meant to be a joke. Richie was smiling, so Eddie smiled. They both pretended they couldn’t smell the fresh cigarette smoke on his wet clothes.

Unfortunately, with the power still out, Eddie couldn’t draw Richie a boiling bath and force him to sit in it until his skin turned pink and every trace of coldness in his body was gone. The best he could do is order Richie to put on his ill fitting clothes and get himself dried off with a fluffy towel that his Ma bought specifically for Eddie’s “delicate skin.” He followed Eddie’s every direction numbly, looking at Eddie hopelessly, like he just wouldn’t know what to do without him there. It made Eddie uncomfortable, Richie _always_ knew what to do.

“Why did you come to me?” Eddie asked, quietly, as he gently dried Richie’s hair with the fluffy towel. He hoped his Ma wouldn’t find it before he could wash it, Richie’s hair was noticeably darker and curlier than his, and his Ma was _very_ observant when it came to things like towels. Richie’s eyes were shut, and Eddie found it was easier to look at him when his dulled out eyes weren’t open.

“You get me.” Richie cracked an eye open then, and he was smiling, with lips that were no longer blue - if only barely. “I heard cuddling increases body heat, sweet cheeks… _do ya mind?”_

Eddie could have collapsed with relief. Instead, he playfully shoved Richie’s shoulder until the lankier teen was laying flat on his bed and flopped down on top of him - blanket tucked tightly around the both of them. Richie harrumphed, surprised. “Is that all it took to get you in bed with me - _pneumonia?”_

Eddie groaned, pushing himself off of Richie to roll onto his stomach next to him. He frowned down at the older teenager and ignored the frantic fluttering coming from his chest. “You ruin everything. On  _purpose.”_

“Mhmm…” Richie smiled. “You just get me, Eds.”

He hated it when Richie would say that. He didn’t _just get_ Richie. Nearly four years of friendship and he didn’t feel any closer to understanding all of the mysteries that lingered around his bespectacled friend. He wondered if Richie was teasing him, if he knew how clueless Eddie really was - that even their shared group of friends seemed to understand Richie better than he did. It seemed like a stretch, the ernest twinkle in Richie’s blue eyes gave him away.

“You’re sweet talking me.” Eddie accused, gently nudging Richie’s ribcage with his elbow. “I think you just came to me because my house is the closest to yours.”

Richie threw his head against the pillow when he laughed, his eyes crinkled up around the edges and his smile was bright enough to bring some color back to his face. It was brief, but in those few moments that Richie stifled his usually loud laughter with the back of his hand, Eddie saw something in Richie that he feared the most - _a boy._ “Spaghetti Man you hit that one outta the park.” He choked back his giggles as he tilted his head towards the asthmatic. “Maybe I didn’t come over here for you.”

“Jiminy Cricket. I should have just left you in the rain.” Eddie grumbled, he pushed the image of what Richie would look like crawling inside of Sonia Kaspbrak’s window out of his mind.

The silence in Eddie’s bedroom was comfortable, despite the fact that Richie wasn’t prone to ever letting silence linger unless he was sleeping. Which is what Eddie assumed he was doing, what with the way his eyes were shut and his breathing was slow and measured. The booming of thunder that rattled the quiet house could even be described as soothing, sleep inducing. The steady ticking of the clock on Eddie’s wall was a reminder of just how late it was getting; how desperately Eddie needed to get his own time to rest.

When Richie spoke again, he put his own exhaustion on the back burner. “The funeral is Sunday.”

Frank Kaspbrak died when Eddie was eight years old. Cancer. It was always some form of cancer or another, Eddie learned that at a very young age. He remembered staring at the casket that held the frail body of his father, his cheeks were sunken in - that’s all Eddie could really remember. Most of the town showed up, from what Eddie remembered, though it was a small town. He didn’t stay in the church after that, he turned on his small heel and walked until he was standing in the cool fall air that encompassed the state of Maine. He remembered staring up at the sky, tears running down his young face as he searched for a sign that he was in a nightmare.

Wentworth Tozier was smoking outside, leaning against the brick wall of the church that Eddie never cared to attend. Not even as a child. The man blew out a steady stream of smoke before he said, _“It’ll be okay, kiddo.”_ He pointed his cigarette towards the clouds. _“He’s somewhere up there.”_

Eddie didn’t suppose that would sound quite as reassuring, coming from him. “I hear… that hugging… is _especially_ good for retaining warmth.” His words were choppy, awkward. But the message got across as Richie laughed again, watery and shaky, and rolled onto his side to wrap his arms around the smaller teen’s waist.

“This is fucking embarrassing.” Richie grumbled into Eddie’s neck, goosebumps decorated the light olive skin on his thin arms. “Don’t go tellin’ everyone I’m a crybaby, I gotta reputation ya know.”

“A _terrible_ reputation.” Eddie enunciated, rolling his eyes. “No one would blame you, for crying, you know.”

Silence. “You don’t really believe that… d’ya Eds?”

The asthmatic frowned, and he looked up into Richie’s dull eyes, only to see the teenager was looking right back at him. They stared at one another, quietly examining each other’s expressions before Eddie mumbled, “Huh?”

Richie smiled, sadly, and shrugged his shoulders. “There would be a lot of people… who would get a real kick out of seeing me cry.”

The room was completely silent after that, and Eddie could feel the moment Richie’s labored breathing turned soft and measured.

Richie left the next morning before Eddie woke up. Though, he was at school, behaving like nothing had happened. He was joking around with Mike Hanlon and pinching Eddie’s cheeks so hard that the skin under his fingers turned red. “What’s with the long face Spaghetti?” He asked at lunch, a grin stretching the skin of his cheeks and an arm draped over Eddie’s shoulders. His eyes twinkled mischievously. “You look like someone died, sweets.”

No, Eddie didn’t understand Richie Tozier, he didn’t understand him at all.

+

It only made sense that Richie Tozier’s van was just as loud and obnoxious as he was. A 1957 Volkswagen camper van, specifically. The vehicle was bulky, it spluttered and coughed whenever Richie turned it on, and worst of all, the paint job made it look like one of those hippies turned rock star hurled all over it. Richie seemed to be embracing the new psychedelic trend of the era, with curls wilder than ever and multi colored sunglasses that replaced the spectacles he used to wear before he switched them out for contact lenses.  
  
“Well, whaddya think?” Richie was sat atop the hood of his van, his long legs dangled over the side and his Converse clad feet swinging back and forth in front of him. His grin was crooked, but his teeth no longer were - his smiles were bigger, bolder ever since he lost the braces. The wind in Derry was slow moving, but it sent Richie’s dark brown curls into a frenzy, whipping around his ears and brushing across his forehead. The seventeen year old leaned back against the hood of his car, letting his head fall back just so, the red lensed sunglasses catching the fading orange sunlight. “Does it look as sexy as it feels?”  
  
It didn’t. The scene looked much like an abstract painting, just a startling mess of colors that didn’t seem to match. Though, as Eddie Kaspbrak saw it, it was still _art._ _  
_  
“My Ma will have a cow if she sees this van sitting in front of her house.” Eddie crossed his thin arms over his chest, he was standing in his front yard, grass so overgrown it tickled the backs of his knees every time he walked.  
  
“You love it.” Richie leered, and it bothered Eddie - how _effortlessly_ Richie could see right through him.  
  
“It’s hideous.” Eddie amended, and he walked forward so he was standing on the street next to the van. Hesitantly, he brushed his fingertips across a patch of paint that was beginning to peel - right next to one of Richie’s bouncing legs. “At the very least, you’re going to need to paint over...” Eddie carelessly waved his hand over the hallucinatory vomit that decorated the car. _“This.”_ _  
_  
Richie frowned, he slid off of the hood and landed on the concrete without so much as swaying. Eddie didn’t know how, his clumsiness should have been even worse than before, what with the way his legs were shaped like identical four foot twigs.  
  
“Eddie, my love, the paint gives the car... _flavor.”_ Richie enunciated the word with a shoddy French accent. “You take away the paint, you take away the taste.”  
  
Eddie disagreed, there was nothing tasteful about a car with _‘groovy’_ slapped across the side in neon pink bubble letters. But, there wasn’t much use in arguing with Richie Tozier.  
  
“Was thinkin’ of taking you Losers’ out of town, y’know, for Mike’s birthday.” Richie slapped his hand against the hood, his flat palm producing a hollow echo with every smack. “Heard My Fair Lady is playing at the drive-in, you know how much I love Miss Hepburn.”  
  
“Are you sure this van can make it out of town?” Eddie asked slowly, he suggestively eyed the hood - it certainly didn’t sound like it was going to drive across town when Richie pulled up in it, didn’t sound like it was going to make it down the street. Sheepishly, Richie scratched the back of his neck, his curls bouncing with his hand.  
  
“Dunno. Guy I bought it from was selling it for real cheap, but... how hard could it be to make a car drive?”  
  
“You’re clueless.” Eddie stated matter of factly, a grimace tugged at his lips. Though, he wasn’t sure Richie was quite as clueless as he was playing himself to be. There was, after all, a reason that Richie came showing off his new van to Eddie before any of the other Losers. There was something telling Eddie that Richie knew what he was doing when he came to the mechanic (more or less) of the lucky seven.  
  
“Let’s take her for a spin.” Richie spoke through Eddie’s own thoughts, squashing the prediction that he wasn’t completely helpless. He was holding back one of his tacky Tozier grin’s with a lip bite, he drummed his hands against the hood of the car so rapidly that Eddie was tempted to grab the seventeen year old by the wrists and stop him.  
  
Hesitantly, Eddie turned back towards his house, where he was sure his Ma was now watching. He wondered what she would think, if she saw her son hop into Richie Tozier’s psychedelic death machine and drive away like he doesn’t have a care in the world. _Her opinion on Richie wouldn’t change,_ Eddie thought bitterly, _she already thinks he crawled out of hell just to be dropped in my lap and ruin my life._ _  
_  
“Do you really think this van can take that?” Eddie asked uncertainly, staring at the rusted rims that held wheels that likely should have been changed several years ago. Eddie reckoned he would need at least an hour to look at the car and see if it’s in _take her for a spin_ condition.  
  
“Dunno.” Richie shrugged, grinning like he was expecting the piece of shit to break down while the two of them were halfway to Portland. He placed his red lensed glasses onto his forehead, which simultaneously pushed back the brown curls that were acting as shade for his pale forehead. “Wanna find out?”  
  
A smarter, stronger man would turn down Richie Tozier and waltz back inside without turning around once. Eddie Kaspbrak, on the other hand, never denied that at times he could be a very weak man.  
  
Richie’s bright blue eyes, ecstatic and hopeful, made him remember just how weak he could really be.  
  
“Sure.” Eddie pretended he didn’t notice the sharp inhale from the taller teenager, he stared at the van distastefully - desperately trying to contain his own excitement as he imagined riding through Derry with Richie Tozier. _Just him and Richie._ A shiver traveled down his back. “But if we break down...”  
  
“Don’t worry baby.” Richie interrupted with a hum. He walked past Eddie and yanked open the door to the driver’s seat (which made an unattractive squeaking sound.) The teenager winked, and gestured with the jerk of his thumb towards the back of the truck. “I have blankets in the back.”  
  
Eddie scowled. “I’m not sleeping in your van.”  
  
Richie hopped into the car like he hadn’t heard a word Eddie said, and for a moment, Eddie wasn’t sure he had. Until Richie rolled the window down, which looked like an effort in and of itself, and leaned his head out to give his best friend an unimpressed stare. “Do you know how many ladies would jump at the chance to take a nap in this van?”  
  
A flash of aggravation shot through Eddie like a bullet made of jealousy, and he gritted his teeth to stomp the hideous emotion down. “I don’t know any girls who would willingly hop into a van that looks like _that.”_  
  
”Guess you just don’t know Mrs. K the way I do.”  
  
The sky was a deep orange color, and the beginning of summer was fresh in the air. The breeze that occasionally rustled the trees was warm, a wind that you leaned into to as opposed to cowering away from. The weather was so beautiful, it was almost as if Derry knew that his and Richie’s junior year in high school was ending - they were so close to freedom and adulthood that Eddie could taste it in the atmosphere.  
  
Adulthood felt like both a promise, and a threat. There was the promise of freedom, just within reach but never close enough to touch. Just enough to have you squirming in your seat, waiting until that moment when you can jump to your feet and run free. But of course, with freedom, there was the threat of solitude. A fear you didn’t know existed until you had to imagine a world where you ran away, and the entire world you once knew seemed to run in the opposite direction.  
  
Eddie saw that combination of emotions in Richie’s electric eyes. He wanted to leave just as desperately as Eddie did, and now, he had a way to do it.    
  
He could feel Sonia’s eyes on him. He knew that the only reason she hadn’t walked outside and put a stop to his conversation with Richie is because she didn’t expect Eddie to leave with him. That was enough to have the asthmatic swallowing down his retort and climbing into the van’s passenger seat.  
  
Immediately, he was hit with the a mixture of interesting smells. Most prominently being cigarette smoke and the cologne Richie wore for the sole purpose of masking it. It was both sickening in it’s severity and comforting in it’s familiarity. He was thankful that his window was already rolled down. Richie, to his credit, looked apologetic. “It already smelled like this, when I got it.” Yet again, he knew exactly what was on Eddie’s mind. “Wasn’t planning on stinking the damn thing up just yet but hey, s’how the cookie crumbles.”  
  
Richie’s laughter was overpowered by the engine roaring to life, the shaking and trembling of the neglected machine had Eddie fumbling for his seat belt. For the first two hundred feet, Eddie was certain the van was going to explode. It creaked and groaned and with every press of Richie’s sneaker against the gas, it lurched like it was going to throw both of them through the front window.  
  
Richie’s nonchalant smile wasn’t doing much to soothe Eddie’s worries. In the absolute worst of situations, Richie could keep his cool.  
  
By the time they were in town, the van had picked up speed, and aside from the occasional lurch it was running like a dream. “Toldja Eds.” Richie shrugged, Eddie saw his shoulders relax from his peripherals. “She just needed to warm up a lil, thas’ all.”

As small as Derry was, it felt like they drove a million miles in the rickety vehicle just to get to the edge of town. With every bump in the road Eddie felt like he was going to be sucked out of his open window and onto the paved ground down below. They were passing over the Kissing Bridge when Eddie realized just how easy it would be to up and leave his entire life behind. It was that easy, to get into a shitty van and make it on a few dollars and a prayer to get to the next town over.

“Think this van would look pretty good in LA.” Richie mused, he glanced over at Eddie, a wry smile on his face. “What d’you think, sweets?”

“This van would look good in a trash compactor exclusively.” Eddie grumbled, he attempted (with no luck) to ignore the sinking feeling in his chest. The warm wind whipped his short bangs out of his eyes, he hoped Richie couldn’t see the hesitance in them. Obliviously, Richie snorted, giggling like Eddie was the funniest person he ever met.

“Eds gets off a good one…” Richie whistled, his eyes shifting between the road and the seventeen year old next to him. “What about me?”

“What _about_ you?”

“Would I look good in Los Angeles?” He was teasing, his voice as suggestive as it was playful. But there was a hopeful lilt to his question - he wanted encouragement from Eddie. He felt a stab of guilt, as his first response was to answer with; _‘And why would you want to go there?’_ Of course, he already knew the answer. Ever since they were in elementary school, Richie talked about the great city of Los Angeles like it was his life's goal just to make it there.

Hell, for all Eddie knew, it _could_ have been. Over the years he heard story after story about Richie’s _dreams,_ always related back to Los Angeles. His dream to become a television star, his dream to become a ventriloquist (Eddie remembered that he especially liked this one,) his dream to become a stand up comedian - and most recently, his dream to become a radio star.

A selfish part, a _small_ part of Eddie wanted to discourage that. He hated thinking of a life without Richie Tozier, how could he _not?_ The mysteries of Richie Tozier were still just _that,_ a mystery. He needed more time - not just a year or two at best.

The larger part… _the larger part_ cared about Richie Tozier. The larger part wanted to encourage the boy he had gotten to know (perhaps not as much as he wanted) over the years, wanted to tell him that he would look _great_ in Los Angeles. That he would thrive over there even more than he had all the way across the country in the tiny town of Derry, Maine. He inhaled shakily, and stared out the window - where the sky was purple and the trees that lined the tiny streets flew by as the car zipped down the highway.

“Los Angeles seems like the perfect place for a guy like you, Richie Tozier.”

“Ya think so?” Richie crowed in his impression of Officer Nell, Eddie hated to admit it, but the over enthusiastic Irish accent had improved over the years. “‘S that ah compliment ‘r an insult, my dear?”

“Let’s go with both.” Eddie kept his eyes focused on the horizon in front of them, the sun was setting behind them - and in the foggy rear view mirrors, all Eddie could see was a blinding light that dimmed with every passing second. The sun was gone by the time they made it to Caribou, Maine. Which, admittedly, was way farther than they both intended on going. There was the promise of freedom again, that urged them to drive as far as they could. In this case, and on this night, that happened to be Northeast Maine.

The van jolted to a shuttering stop in the parking lot of a foodmart, the only source of light came from a flickering street light and the occasional buzzing neon red sign that came from a sleazy hotel across the street. From his view of the rundown building, sleeping in the back of Richie’s van suddenly seemed far more appealing.

“Damn you.” Eddie laughed as he was rolling his window up, he tilted his head to watch Richie squirm his way from the front seat into the back of the van and start spreading out the blankets he brought onto the van’s bright green shag carpet. “You made sure I would have to sleep in this thing.”

“Eds darling - nothing is stopping you from walking across the street to that hotel, I’m not holding you hostage, you know.”

“Sure you are.” Eddie didn’t elaborate on that, he didn’t have to.

It wasn’t as bad as Eddie thought it would be. Aside from the carpet that smelled like cigarettes, the blankets Richie brought smelled like his bedroom and the lavender detergent Maggie used on their laundry. And despite the back of the van being windowless, there was a lantern hanging from the ceiling spreading pale light throughout their makeshift bedroom. It reminded Eddie of the Losers Club, and the sleepovers they used to have in Bill and Georgie Denbrough’s treehouse. It was peaceful, melancholic even.

“Hey Eds.” Richie whispered, as if he too felt this situation was so familiar that he began to fear Bill Denbrough’s parents overhearing. “Los Angeles needs guys like you.”

Eddie frowned, and turned his head to see Richie staring right back at him, blue eyes ablaze in the lantern light and dark curls pooling around his head on the shag carpet. The two teenagers were laying side by side, their arms pressed together and their fingers brushing. _Richie is kind of handsome,_ Eddie thought to himself, not for the first time. “Asthmatics?”

Richie grinned. “Sure.”

Before the asthmatic in question could respond, Richie clambered towards the back doors and popped them open, letting in the warm Maine air of an early summer night. He turned around, box of cigarettes in one hand and a lighter in the other. “D’ya mind?”

Eddie shook his head _no_ as he sat up to curl his arms around his knees. It was hard, as he watched Richie lounge with one foot dangling out of the van and another stretched out across the doorway while he lit a cigarette. The same cigarettes that killed both his and Richie’s father, the same cigarettes that would burn Eddie’s lungs from the inside out if he dared to grab one. It was useless to say anything to Richie, to tell him something he already knew. He watched the seventeen year old take a long drag, the tip of the cig glowing orange, before blowing out a wave of gray smoke into the black sky.

“What about you?” Richie asked suddenly, and Eddie had to drag his eyes away from his fingertips that held his cigarette in a loose grasp. “Where do you want to go?”

“New York.” He answered easily, letting his eyes fall on the heavy purple bags under Richie’s. “I think… I think I would look good in New York.”

Richie laughed, he brought the cigarette to his mouth and took another drag through his chuckling. “Eds baby, you would look good _anywhere.”_ He glanced away from Eddie, missing the red that brought color to the teen’s light olive cheeks. With his mock New York accent, he crowed; “Bet tha’ women will be all ova’ ya Spaghetti.”

Eddie hummed, disbelievingly. “You mean the same way the women in Derry are all over you?”

Offended, the older teen huffed through the cigarette clenched between his lips. “Don’ appreciate the doubt in yer voice, Wheezy.” Eddie guffawed at the nickname, he stretched a foot out to kick at Richie’s unsuspecting leg. Richie continued like he hadn’t felt a thing. “I was doing _just_ _fine_ with Betty Ripsom.”

“Before her hair got caught in your braces while you were kissing?” Eddie giggled, pressing a palm over his mouth.

“Hey she _enjoyed_ the kissing before that.” Richie protested, he stubbed his cigarette out on the open door of his van and tossed it out into the parking lot. “Besides, now that I’m braces free, I’ve had no trouble in the romance department.”

 _That makes one of us._ Eddie thought, looking at the cigarette Richie threw out into the parking lot. “Can I tell you something?”

Richie hummed, a lazy response, but a sure sign that he was actually paying attention. He tended not to respond at all when he wasn’t listening. “I think I’m gay.”

There was a silence, a quiet pause between the two of them that was long enough for Eddie to think, _I fucked up._ He didn’t dare to look at Richie, there was something terrifying about the mental image of his best friend with rage on his face that Eddie didn’t know existed before that. _It’s Richie._ Eddie had to remind himself, his hands trembled as they clutched at the material of his jeans. _Not Henry Bowers, not your mom,_ Richie.

“How do you know?” Richie asked then, after what felt like hours but couldn’t have been any more than several seconds, his voice came out like a startled croak. “If you haven’t ever…”

As he trailed off, Eddie found himself looking back up at Richie with furrowed brows. The seventeen year old looked pale, and was biting on the nail of his thumb, a nervous habit he dropped back when he started regularly smoking. It annoyed Eddie, that _Richie_ was acting so nervous. How could he be nervous? It was _Eddie_ who was admitting that he was gay. Snappily, Eddie replied, “How did you know you liked girls? Before you ever kissed one of them?”

“I didn’t.” Richie said it matter of factly, not unkindly, _truthfully._ It took Eddie off guard, and the two of them looked over one another before a new question took form in Eddie’s mind.

“So how do you know you don’t… like boys?” His voice was shaky, and Eddie wanted to scold himself for feeling the need to pull out his aspirator.

“I don’t.”

There was the briefest of moments, where Eddie contemplated what he should say. Where the two of them just stared at one another wordlessly under the starry sky of Caribou, Maine in the old van that smelled less and less like smoke the longer they sat there. In that moment, Eddie remembered how strange Richie seemed to him, when they were both still in elementary school. He didn’t seem so strange anymore, he didn’t seem _normal_ of course, but he was _just Richie._ Eddie didn’t have to _get_ Richie Tozier, he just _liked_ him. That’s all there was to it, he _liked Richie Tozier,_ obscenities, eccentricity and all.

The moment ended, when Eddie Kaspbrak closed the small gap between them and pressed a chaste kiss to Richie Tozier’s dry lips.

It was brief, innocent in nature because that’s what Eddie was. And when he pulled away from the teen he considered his best friend, he licked his lips and looked up into his eyes - darker than usual, framed by red cheeks. “Now you know.”

 _“Yeah.”_ Richie replied breathily, and they were kissing again.

Eddie understood then, why Betty Ripsom enjoyed kissing Richie before her hair got tangled in his braces. But Richie no longer had braces to snag hair in, and Eddie didn’t have hair to get caught in.

So Richie cupped his jaw, and pulled their mouths together again and again and again. With every press of their lips, stars exploded behind Eddie’s closed eyes and he wondered how he possibly went years without this. He had never met someone like Richie Tozier, and he was sure he never wanted to meet anyone else like him.

Richie backed away, his blue eyes wide and his hand still tenderly cupping Eddie’s jaw. Their breathing was labored, a combination of overexertion and uncertainty. Richie looked handsome still, his curls were a mess and Eddie wanted to run his hands through them - ruin the little bit of togetherness his hair had. “I...” Richie started, he licked his lips and Eddie’s heart stuttered at the little movement. “Think I have a thing for the Kaspbraks.”

“Do you always have to act like an idiot?” Eddie asked, his voice fonder than he appreciated it being.

“I told ya Eds, it’s not an act.”

A particularly strong gust of wind slammed into the open doors of the hideously painted van and closed one of the doors, the sudden chill in the air was enough to have Richie crawling backwards and locking the van’s back doors tight. Eddie wondered what it would be like, living in a van like this with Richie - waiting for the both of them to _make it_ so they could move into an equally shitty apartment. Sadness struck him, as he decided that - _no,_ he wasn’t going to do that.

He watched Richie lay back down, this time closer, their fingers absentmindedly playing together as they basked in their own silence. It occured to Eddie that perhaps, Richie didn’t know _what_ to say.

“Los Angeles?” Eddie asked, and he could feel it when Richie flinched.

“Yeah.” Richie responded with a bitter sigh. “Los Angeles.”

Unspoken, Eddie lifted himself back up and kissed Richie again. There was desperation there, and he was sure Richie could feel it. One of Richie’s fingers tangled itself into Eddie’s belt loop to pull him closer, and when they stopped kissing - they didn’t pull away. “You better make it big in LA.” Eddie breathed. “Or else I’ll stop you from visiting New York _myself.”_

Richie’s eyes brightened. “You couldn’t resist me if you _tried,_ Eddie my love.”

True as it was, Eddie knew Richie felt just the same about him. There was no question, in the way he looked up at Eddie and the way his smile seemed dizzy and in love. Eddie wasn’t sure how he didn’t see it before, really.

It was like Richie said, Eddie just _got_ him.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! if you enjoyed please leave a comment. <3


End file.
